CHAPTER 255: BOSS...YOUR WIFE

The first thing I felt was pressure. Heavy, constant, pressing against my chest like someone was sitting on me. Then the pain—white-hot and everywhere. My back burned, my shoulder throbbed, and my stomach felt like it had been stitched together with wire. Every breath was a punishment.

The smell hit next. Antiseptic. Blood. Smoke. The sterile hum of a generator somewhere nearby. Then came the muffled voices — low, urgent, familiar. Something cold pressed against my ribs, and pain flared bright enough to pull me the rest of the way out of unconsciousness.

I exhaled sharply. The ceiling above me swam into focus — rough beams, dim light, and the faint whir of medical instruments.

"He’s awake," someone breathed.

A chorus of relieved sounds followed. The hands that had been working on me paused for only a moment before resuming, bandages tightening around my torso. My shoulder throbbed in rhythm with my heartbeat, and the smell of burnt flesh still clung to my skin.

The light overhead stabbed through the haze, shapes swimming into focus until one of them turned into Cameron’s stupid, grinning face.

"Well, look who decided not to die," he said, voice rough but laced with relief. "Another five minutes and I’d have started rehearsing my takeover speech. ’Dear board members, it is with deep sorrow that I—’"

I didn’t even have the strength to tell him to shut up, but the glare I gave him seemed to do the job.

He laughed under his breath. "Yeah, there it is. The death stare. Knew you weren’t going anywhere."

I shifted, or tried to. A wave of pain tore through my shoulder and gut, dragging a curse out of me. My hand went instinctively to the bandages, but someone pushed it away.

"Easy," a medic muttered. "You’re still bleeding internally. Don’t move yet."

I ignored him, turning my head until I caught sight of Gray. He stood at the edge of the room, giving orders to whoever was still patching people up. A strip of gauze ran diagonally across his face, and one eye was covered completely.

"What happened to you?" My voice came out rough, almost unrecognizable.

Gray’s single visible eye flicked toward me. "Got clipped during the escape," he said. "Nothing serious. But whoever those bastards were—they weren’t amateurs. Tactical movement, high-tech gear, coordinated fire. They knew what they were doing, and they knew where we’d be."

"Too well," Cameron said grimly. "They didn’t come to scare us. They came to erase us.... You actually. Because they kept shooting towards you than anyone else."

"The one’s we caught killed themselves immediately. So we couldn’t get a lead on who sent them."

I was about to sit up when the pain shot through me again, hard enough to blur my vision. Cameron swore and pressed a hand to my chest to stop me from moving.

"Lie the hell down, Adrien. You’re held together by stitches and sheer ego right now."

Before I could respond, the door swung open. One of our men stumbled in—face pale, chest heaving, eyes wide.

"Boss."

The man who’d entered hovered by the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should speak. Mud streaked his boots, his face pale beneath the grime. His eyes darted between Gray and me before finally settling on Cameron.

Cameron straightened, sensing something off. "What is it?"

The man hesitated. "Sir, I—maybe I should speak outside—"

"Speak," Cameron snapped, his tone losing all trace of humor. "Now."

The guy hesitated, eyes flicking from Cam to me like he was deciding which one of us would kill him faster.

"Boss," he began, voice rough, cracking. "It’s... you need to see this. There’s— it’s everywhere."

"Everywhere?" Cameron’s brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The man swallowed hard. "Online. The media. Social platforms. They—they’re calling her names. Bad ones. Your—wife."

My heart stopped. "What?"

He glanced down at the phone in his hand, almost afraid to lift it. "It started Three hours ago. A leaked article. Photos, videos, screenshots of documents. They’re tearing her apart, sir. And... the board— they’ve seen it. They’re demanding an emergency review. Some of them are pushing for your removal as CEO until the scandal’s cleared."

I just stared at him. The words registered one by one, slow and disjointed, like bullets passing through water.

Cameron straightened, his joking mood gone. "Who leaked it?"

"We don’t know yet," the man stammered. "But it’s spreading like wildfire. They’re calling her──" He stopped himself, but the look in his eyes said enough.

Something hot and ugly twisted in my chest. "Finish the sentence."

He flinched. "They’re calling her a gold-digger. A fraud. A—" His voice broke, dropping to a whisper. "A whore."

"What did you just say?"

The room went dead silent.

The man who’d rushed in stood frozen by the door, his chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted the whole way here. His face was pale, eyes darting toward Cameron before flicking back to me.

My vision narrowed to a single burning point, rage pounding in my ears like war drums. Cameron’s hand came down on my shoulder before I could move.

"Adrien. Breathe."

I couldn’t. Not when I could already imagine Isabella’s face seeing that filth, her hands shaking, and her eyes—

My chest constricted. "Where is she?"

The man hesitated again, and the room turned colder.

"Where the fuck is she?" I barked.

"Spit it out," I growled.

He swallowed hard. "The... the car carrying your wife and your mother... had an accident on their way."

The words dropped like a stone into a still pond, ripples of horror spreading out from its impact. My mother. Isabella. Both of them, hurt.

"What?" My voice came out hollow, foreign.

The man’s eyes glossed over, guilt spilling across his face. "The car they were in was hit near the Southbridge expressway. Local authorities are still confirming the condition, but—"

"But what?" I demanded, the words ripped from my throat, raw and desperate. Cameron’s grip tightened, a silent warning. Gray, despite his own injuries, pushed himself straighter, his brow furrowed with concern.

The soldier wrung his hands. "But the reports... the witness accounts... they’re not good, sir. The impact was severe."

The sterile hum of the generator seemed to amplify in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. Accident. The word echoed, a cold, sharp shard in the already fractured reality. My wife. My mother. Driving on the Southbridge expressway.

For a long moment no one moved. The silence pressed like a hand against my ribs.

Then something in me snapped.

I ripped the IV from my arm, ignoring the sting as blood welled from the puncture. The medic shouted something—useless noise. I swung my legs off the cot, nearly collapsing as my abdomen pulled taut against the stitches. Pain tore through me, white and blinding, but it didn’t matter.

"Get the jet ready," I rasped. My voice came out rough, dangerous. "We’re going back. Now."

Cameron was already moving, but one of the medics lunged forward, trying to restrain me. "Sir, please, you’re not—"

I backhanded the tray beside me, sending instruments crashing to the floor. "Get your hands off me."

The edges of my vision pulsed dark. My back burned, my shoulder screamed, but I shoved off the cot anyway. The bandages around my torso were already damp with fresh blood.

"Boss—" Gray moved in fast, hands out as if to steady me. "You can’t even stand straight. Let us stabilize you first, or you won’t make it past the tarmac. Please."

I turned to him, voice low, dangerous. "Where were the Ghosts?"

Gray froze. The question hit the room like a blade.

"I assigned four of them," I said, each word sharp enough to cut. "Jo was leading Isabella’s car. Where the fuck were they?"

The man who’d brought the news looked like he wished he were anywhere else. "Dead, sir. All of them. We recovered two tags. The others..." His throat bobbed. "Jo managed to get a call through before the line cut. She said they were ambushed from above. She was shouting for backup—then gunfire, and—"

The air left my lungs in a sound that wasn’t quite a breath. The world tilted again, colors smearing at the edges. For a second, everything went still—then the rage hit, raw and electric, overriding every other instinct. Who would have done this? This is definitely a total wipe out. Who?

Gray tried again, voice taut. "Boss, please. Let us—"

"Move."

He didn’t.

"Boss. Please, calm down."

My vision tunneled to the strip of gauze over his eye, the only steady thing in the room.

"Don’t you ever—" My voice cracked like thunder as I grabbed the pistol from the table beside me, the motion automatic, effortless despite the pain. I leveled it at Gray’s chest. "—ever fucking tell me to calm down."

The weight of the silence was suffocating. The other men froze, watching, unsure if I’d actually pull the trigger. My hand shook slightly — not from hesitation, but exhaustion.

Gray didn’t flinch, though the others did. Cameron’s hand twitched toward his holster but stayed there, watching.

I took a step forward, every muscle trembling, blood still dripping from the torn IV line. "MOVE. NOW."

His single eye met mine — steady, unreadable, the kind of calm that comes from knowing exactly how far I’ll go. Then he nodded—barely. "Yes, sir."

Cameron turned sharply toward the others. "You heard him. Get the damn jet ready."

The room erupted into movement, people scattering, shouting orders, boots hammering against the floor.

I sank back onto the edge of the bed, my breathing ragged. The medics scrambled around me, wrapping new gauze, patching lines, trying to stop the bleeding from where the IV had ripped. I barely noticed them. My gaze was fixed on the far wall — unseeing, burning holes through it.

Jo was one of my best. If she went down screaming... then whoever did this wasn’t just trying to kill them. They wanted me to hear it.

I pressed my bloody hand over my eyes, fighting the dizziness clawing up my spine.

Isabella.

Please... Be strong. I’m coming. And whoever did this will pray for a quick death.